


Emotional mysteries

by Funkissi



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 02:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10548244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkissi/pseuds/Funkissi
Summary: There is a day in every year where the Professor Hershel Layton acts odd. When his children begin to realize something is wrong, who better to call for help than the person who knows Hershel best; his best friend?Ranlay, Layclaire





	

**October 26, 1966**

Usually, the Professor Hershel Layton was an early bird. Usually, Professor Hershel Layton was lively, and ready to tackle anything that the day had in store for him. Usually, Professor Hershel Layton was kind, and gentle, and so excited with a burning passion for teaching that he’d arrive to his job far before any right minded teacher even dreamt of arriving. 

But not today. Not now. Most faculty members understood. The same thing happened every year around this time, and therefore, they would excuse Hershel’s lateness, or blunt disinterest, or ungentlemanly behaviors, with a tip of the hat, and a “be well”. Any student of his who did his or her basic research on the professor knew it too, and would patiently smile at him when he stumbled into the room, flustered, disorganized, and often even emotional, as opposed to his usual calm and stoic drift, and with a flakey, dull, and rather half-hearted lesson. Everybody sympathised with him. Nobody could even imagine that kind of heartbreak; the kind that rips one’s heart out without asking. The kind that takes your lover without warning in the explosion of the century. 

 

__________________________________

 

“Good morning, Professor!” Luke, the young, self-appointed apprentice, was waiting patiently for his gentlemanly role model to come down from his room and have their usual morning breakfast of porridge and tea.  _ After all _ , the professor had once said,  _ a true gentleman must operate on a full stomach in order to think critically throughout the day.  _

It had been quite some time now that the professor had taken Luke in as one of his own. Clark Triton, the young father of the eccentric Luke, was always a busy man, traveling here and there due to business, among other things, and one day, Luke simply became fed up with never having a proper home. Clark didn’t know what to do, but thankfully, the professor very graciously took him in, and from then on, Luke went from part time to full time apprentice.

“You’re a bit late,” Luke continued on. “Perhaps due to that puzzle I insisted you solve last night, but we still have time before you have to head off to class!” 

Lost in thought and beady eyes dull, it took a moment for Hershel to realize his friend had spoken to him, another moment to process the words, and one more to curve his lips to acquire the appropriate smile he needed. 

“Ah, yes. Of course. How rude of me to arrive late.” He tipped his hat, as if talking to a stranger, until realizing in quite the embarrassing, cheek flushing manner that Luke was no unknown. He attempted to brush the action off quickly by sitting down as if nothing had happened, but Luke was mature for his age, and had learned how the professor talked and  twiddled and all around acted in different situations. 

“Professor, are you alright? You look confused, or lost,” Luke so blatantly pointed out as he picked up a piece of toast and began filling his black hole of a stomach. The comment forced a bittersweet chuckle to rise from Hershel’s throat. He tried relaxing his tense body.

“Lost? Oh dear, I hope not. One can’t very well teach a class when lost.” Luke opened his mouth to say something, but the professor continued over Luke before he could jutt out a single syllable. “Perhaps a bit disheveled. I believe I read an article on a new archeological find last night, and stayed up for a while doing a bit of research.” Looking upon Luke once more, his first genuine smile of the day slid onto his lips when he saw his friend’s hesitation and concern at the lacking response he had just been given. “It’s nothing to worry about, my boy. You and I have both been the victims of scenes far worse than a simple, restless night.” Apprehensive, but content, Luke nodded with relief, and grinned.

Hershel had barely touched his food before he excused himself to leave for class, and briskly as well, for Luke didn’t get the chance to worry about the professor’s diet that morning. With a sigh, he resorted to putting it for Flora to eat later when she awoke, and save the professor from having to suffer through any of her “cooking”. With breakfast being done, he continued to his daily exercise of writing notes, events, and appointments for the professor to later remember. 

 

______________________________

 

_ October 26, 1966 _

_ Morning entry; I think the professor is feeling sick today. He didn’t talk very much, and kept acting very strangely, like he was dazed, or lost, or something. He said he was just tired, but he’s a terrible liar. I saw it in his eyes! A gentleman never lies, so what reason could he have?  _ _ Maybe he doesn’t trust me?  _ _ No, that wouldn’t be it. I want to help him, though! I’ll solve any puzzle to help him!  _

 

_ _______________________________ _

 

A soft thud from above made little Luke jump just a bit, but smile and slam his notebook shut upon the realization that Flora was awake. Seconds later, the bright and beautiful Flora was merrily hopping down the stairs, landing gracefully upon the first floor of the flat. 

“Good morning, Luke!” she cheered. “Would you like me to cook some breakfast?” Luke’s eyes panicked at the term “cook”, but he grinned with delight when he remembered his master plan.

“Actually, I made breakfast for the professor and I this morning, and I saved a bowl of porridge for you in the fridge!” Upon those words, Flora beamed. 

“Oh goody! I just love how you make porridge.” Up to the fridge she went, and out came the porridge, still a bit lukewarm; Flora had waken up a tad earlier than usual today, and she proceeded to munch happily on her food. Into conversation they went, and the odd morning was quickly forgotten.

 

_______________________________

 

Evening struck quickly, and Luke had lost to Flora for the third time in a row on their fourth round of playing King of the Hill together. Luke would have insisted a fifth round, for rematch purposes, had the front door of the flat not creaked open, then shut with care. 

“Professor!” The two chanted merrily. Their smiles lasting only seconds when they noticed how troubled Hershel looked. He looked like  _ hell _ . Flora was the first to dare ask.

“Oh my goodness! Are you alright!?” she nearly panicked, stepping closer to her guardian. It took Hershel nearly an eternity to realize that he had stared off into his own world, and that his children were looking at him with a deep concern.

“Oh? Ah, it’s nothing to concern yourself with,” he assured with the least assuring voice possible. He even made to leave, turning and all, but Flora wouldn’t allow it. She grabbed him by the sleeve and nearly tugged him back to meet his eyes. They were red, and swollen. 

“Of course it is!” Flora burst. She opened her mouth to speak again, but it was Luke’s voice that was heard.

“If it’s about you, then it’s everything to concern ourselves with.” At this comment, the Professor’s face grew longer still, and his eyes widened. His usually upright posture slouched with discouragement, and his usually flawless speech cracked. 

“I...Forgive me. I suppose I owe you two an apology. I’m terribly sorry for causing you two worry.” He tried his hardest to seem normal, and for a moment, it worked, for Flora let go of the professor’s sleeve, and the two had begun to grow back their beautiful smiles. But only for a moment. “However, as rude as it is, I must retire early. It’s been an awfully exhausting day.” And so, with a tip of the hat, he forced a smile, and took his leave, his children left to stare at him as he walked upstairs and shut the door behind him. 

Flora frowned with concern, and even perhaps a bit of anger. “He didn’t even eat or anything…” 

Luke quickly avoided the subject of cooking by bringing up another point. “I think that’s the least of our worries,” he pointed out as he took out his notebook and began to jot some things down, a small detail Flora didn’t notice at first. 

She thought it strange, for writing was something he only did when an idea was more important that the company he was with, and was trying to figure out what to write, so, naturally, she inquired Luke’s behavior. 

“What are you writing about, Luke?” 

“Hmm? Oh. Just notes.” 

“Notes? About what?” 

“The professor.” 

Very suddenly, she frowned, like something wasn’t right. “That’s odd. I remember this happening last year too…” She pondered the puzzle a bit longer, racking her brain for some sort of idea. A minute passed, then two, then...her eyes widened, and her mouth gaped open just a bit; an idea. “Luke, do you always write down when the professor is acting strange or unusual?” The accused nodded. 

“Well, yes, but I rarely have to, because he almost always acts like the perfect gentleman that he is.” Flora nodded slowly, trying not to provoke Luke into defending his hero. 

“I know that, and it might not matter, but if it does, it could help solve the puzzle. Could I see the other notes where he acts out of character?”

Hesitantly, Luke reached into his bag and grabbed an old notebook, jam packed with fallen sticky notes, and overall in an unorganized order. He flipped through the pages, looking at each line of written text like it was the key to saving the world. He abruptly stopped at one line, and began reading more thoroughly instead of skimming.

“Here, look.” He pointed out to Flora four entries that were logged, one on October 26th, 1960, two on October 27th, 1960, and one one October 28th, 1960.

“Hmm, I remember this. Funny, isn’t today the 26th?” Flora asked, more to herself than anything. “Do you have an earlier one?”

“I think so, but I doubt we would have met you yet.”

“That’s fine. This is about the professor, not me.”

“Right, of course.” In he dug again through his notebook, reaching the beginning few pages before finding what he was looking for. “Here, it’s the same scenario again.”

“When is it dated?” 

Luke looked closer; it was hard to read his own handwriting. “The 24th of October, 1959.” 

Flora’s face lit up with a brilliant epiphany. “The dates. It’s the dates! What date do they all have in common?” 

Luke flipped back through his notebook pages. “Well, the 27th, and it’s always the worst of all the entries.” 

“The 27th? That’s two days from now.” Flora frowned deeply. The solution to one puzzle only led to another. “How strange. I wonder if anything happened on October 27th?” She looked up at Luke. He only shrugged.

“What do you think we should do? We can’t ask him, that might worsen the situation.” Flora sighed, and furrowed her eyebrow in concern. 

“I know, but we can’t just leave this alone. The professor… He seems so hurt.”

“It’s hard to watch...”

The two stood silent together, bouncing ideas off in their heads. Five minutes, ten minutes. The two just sat there, thinking, pondering, puzzling. It was Luke who finally, and incredibly suddenly, sprung to his feet; He had been confronted with an idea. He sat up straight, and whispered a few things to himself, and frowned deeply.

“What’s wrong?” asked a curious Flora, ready to listen to anything her friend and brother had to offer. 

“Well, I was thinking, maybe we need someone who knows the professor really well.”

“Oh, Luke.” She chuckled lightly. “I don’t think anybody knows the professor as well as you.” 

Luke, however, grinned. “I beg to differ. Don’t you remember Uncle Randall?” 

Flora’s eyes widened with shock. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Uncle R- Oh, Luke, you’re a genius! That’s brilliant!” 

Luke smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t say that. Anyways, why not call him?” 

Flora raised her eyebrows, stumped. “Isn’t it a bit late for that?” The two simultaneously looked at the small analog clock hanging just above a landscape of some trees and a river; only eight o’clock. They looked back at each other, and didn’t even have to speak. With a nod, they made their way to the telephone in the kitchen, and Flora dialed the number she knew so well. Ring, click, …

“Yyyyyyyyyello?”

“Randall?”

“Oh, Flora!” A clank could be heard on the other side, as if a plate and a piece of silverware had fallen, and his voice dipped with pure and beautiful excitement. “What brings you to my number today?” He gasped, rather exaggeratedly. “Don’t tell me Hersh and Luke left you all alone again! And at this hour? And he always goes on and on about being a gentleman.” Flora chuckled, and Randal’s smile was clear as day, even if only through a telephone wire.

“No, thankfully! Everyone is here and together for once.”

“What a relief. I was worried I’d have to scold that Hershel.” He paused, snickering at the thought. “Well, anyways, what brings you here at this hour?”

“Well, actually…” The air tensed up again, and Flora looked to Luke. Hesitantly, he stepped up next to her, so he could speak to Randall as well. 

“The professor has been acting really odd lately. He spaces out and occasionally forgets his gentlemanly ways and it’s just all around hard to watch...” Flora nodded in agreement with Luke, but then remembered bashfully that movement can’t be heard, and quickly added on.

“All we know is that it has something to do with October 27th, because he acts like this every year at around this time.” A long moment passeds before Randall finally responded again. 

“Hmm. Well that is odd.” He sounded relatively serious, something the redheaded sir rarely practiced. “I wonder… what time does Hersh wake up every morning for his classes, Mister Professor’s No.1 Apprentice™?”

Luke laughed heartily at Randall. Never had he once heard a person actually voice punctuation of “No.1” and say “T-M” out loud. Various moments passed before he finally regained composure, and was able to speak again, through chuckles. “He wakes up eight o'clock sharp every morning, comes down at ten past, has porridge with me for a half hour, and leaves a quarter before nine!” Flora frowned at him, giving him a glare that shouted “nerd”, and Randall’s momentary silence made it evident that he too was thinking something along those lines. 

“Excellent,” Randall continued on. “It sounds like Prof Hershel needs his daily dose of Randall. I’ll be there at 7:45, sharp. Flora, my dear? What do we say?”

“I’ll pinch you sharp if you aren’t here at that exact time!”

“Atta girl! Good night then, you two.”

“We’ll see you in the morning!”

_ Click _

_ _

**_October 27, 1966_ **

Seven thirty. The alarm clock beeped, blaring and daring. Flora groaned. This was not her usual wake up time. Five minutes of the alarm beckoning her to awake passed before she finally succumbed to the machine, and sat up, letting her feet touch the carpet. She yawned, her memory a haze. Why had she woken up so early again? She closed her eyes lazily, jogging her memory. Luke, concerned. Layton, odd. Randall...Randall! Her eyes light up, and a large amount of sleep melted from her eyes as she quickly combed her hair, slipped on her dress, and slid down the small flight of stairs. She looked up at the analog clock on the wall. The poor man only had four minutes left to be here sharp. With those four minutes, Flora made haste to look around and see who, if anyone, was up yet. Sniffing the air, it was obvious someone was in the kitchen. In popped her head, and when her eyes took in the scene, she smiled wide.

“Good morning~,” she sang softly, rather flat. 

The young boy with his bright blue cap, cooking something that smelled far more delicious than porridge, spun around at the sound of words. “Oh, Flora!” He seemed pleasantly surprised. “Why are you up so early?”

He never got his answer in spoken form though, for at that moment, there was a knock on the door, and a faint whistling of a song could be heard.

“Randall!”

Both children raced to the door as fast as they could, but Flora glanced at the clock just before opening the door. 

“Heeeeeere’s Randall!” Randall announced almost as childishly as the actual children. Luke and Randall giggled, as did Flora, but Flora seemed as if she was trying to act upset.

“You’re late!” she pointed out, shoving her finger in the direction of the clock just above them. It read 7:47. 

Randall gasped far more sharply than needed. “Oh my gosh! How could I? That’s absolutely unforgivable!” He wrapped one arm around his eyes as if he were hiding his tears, and held his other out to the young flower. “Flora, please,” He sniffed, pretending to cry. “...Put me out of my misery.”

At about this point, Luke was laughing uncontrollably, on the floor and well near crying. Flora grinned with a playful malice, and with all her strength, pinched Randall right at the fold where the arm bends. Randal howled exaggeratedly, though silently, as not to awake anybody. They all laughed heartily, reviving the joy that had been lost the night before. Several moments passed before Randal could speak again, teary eyed. 

“I swear, Flora. You get stronger every time you do that!” Flora only giggled more, along with Randall. It took her a while to notice that Luke was no longer joining in.

“What’s wrong, Luke?” asked Flora, who turned to face Randal as if asking for help. He, however, only shrugged. Randall, however, was pretty sure he knew what was wrong.

After about the third or fourth minor adventure that Luke and Hershel went on, Flora began getting terribly upset that the professor refused to let her accompany the two on their travels. One day, Hershel had called, a bit more flustered than usual, and asked Randall for his advice on what to do. 

“Just let her go with you, Hersh!” Randall had said, genuinely upset that Hershel wouldn’t let her venture with him.

“No, Randall,” Layton had countered, a fatherly worry set deep within his voice. “You don’t understand. I  _ can’t _ . What if she gets hurt?”

“Well what if Luke get’s hurt? Isn’t he just as important?”

“Yes, but…”

That night, after more than an hour on the phone, Randall had begun to understand that not letting Flora go went far deeper than any gentlemanly precaution, and he offered to take care of Flora, and make sure she was content while Hershel and Luke sailed away on their adventures. Because of this, he knew that his relationship with Flora was stronger than his relationship with Luke. Gentleman or not, It was hard for Luke not to get jealous, and Randall knew it well.

“I mean…” Luke started, uncomfortably, “It’s been quite a while since I saw uncle Randall...and-” He never got to finish. In that moment he was swept away with a pair of muscular arms, and was hoisted up on a pair of shoulders that accompanied flaming red hair. Randall looked up, and smiled wide.

“So ya missed me, eh?” Luke giggled sheepishly, and nodded. Randall returned the giggle, equally as sheepish. “Well, guess what? I missed you too, buddy.” Luke couldn’t help when his mouth shined with a toothy grin.

They almost looked like a family. Only one person was missing. 

“So,” began Randall, setting Luke down. His tone of voice shifted, and the air around the three of them seemed to freeze a bit. Nobody wanted what was coming next. “Um, what time did you guys say Hersh woke up every day? Eight?” Luke nodded cautiously, and Flora looked up at the clock. They all sighed simultaneously. It was eight o‘five. Luke looked the most worried. 

“That’s odd...He’s never late.” It was almost painful hearing how hard Luke was trying to ignore the fact that Hershel was ill in some way or another. He wanted with all his heart for the professor to be as he was usually; gentlemanly and ready for the day. Noticing this, Randall clapped his hands, and once again miraculously lifted the mood with his special Randall way. 

“Well perhaps he just needs something more human than an alarm clock, eh?” He smiled at the children, who looked back at him with hope. “Now,” he sniffed the air, and frowned just a bit, as if something were off. Realizing what, he chortled. “It smells like something may be a bit on the toasty side.” Luke and Flora looked at each other, panicked, and without another word, dashed into the kitchen to try and see if anything was salvageable

Randall cackled softly as he watched the two panic away. But his chuckle quickly transformed into a heavy sigh as he looked up at the door above the staircase that belonged to the professor.  _ Oh, Hershel _ , he thought to himself as he climbed up the few steps to reach the door.  _ What did you do while I was gone?  _ He knocked.  _ Why won’t you tell me anything anymore?  _ No answer.  _ What happened to the days when we were kids? _ His hand met the metal of the door handle, and he twisted it open.  _ When we’d sit and fall in love with love itself… _

The first thing Randall’s eyes had a chance to focus on was the state Hershel was in. Still dressed in yesterday’s clothing, his back to the door, hugging a pillow… what a mess. Randall waited a few seconds, frowning in a pool of mixed emotions, in case his friend might turn around. Unfortunately, such was not the case. The redhead actually took a few moments to focus on Hershel’s stomach, and he sighed a quiet sigh of relief when he saw it move up and down; the man was still breathing.

“Now, really Hershel. Is this how you greet an old friend?” He spoke cautiously, but mostly to himself, as he was sure that the gentleman he looked at was fast asleep… Wrong.  Layton nearly jumped up, as if a spring was attached to his back, and the pillow he was holding accidentally flung its way onto Randall’s face, which just barely managed to muffle out his shriek of fright. Layton’s hat almost fell off amongst the chaos, but luckily he managed to grab the rim of it just in time, and slammed the thing on his head untidily, almost viciously. 

“F-forgive me, Luke.” Hershel looked disheveled. Deep dark pits below his red, mildly puffy eyes showed that he hadn’t slept very well, if at all. He was so troubled, that he hadn’t even really taken a look at the distorted face of the person at his door, much less notice he was far too tall to be a child. “ I didn’t mean to…” as the pillow slid down Randall’s face, Layton’s panic stood at ease for a moment as his eyes fully registered the deep red tones of his friend’s hair, and panic was replaced by confusion. “...Randall?”

Randall smiled, genuinely glad that his friend had finally come to, and skipped his usual goofy greeting routine by nearly attacking a very surprised Hershel with a hug. A deep embrace that lasted several long moments. Hershel, after accepting the fact that this was indeed Randall and he was being hugged, felt a flutter of guilt within his chest, and slowly allowed his arms to wrap around the other. He hadn’t done this in so long, especially with Randall. He couldn’t tell if it was reassuring or disheartening when his friend squeezed tight, but he allowed it. Randall didn’t want to let go. It had been so long since he really felt Hershel allowed himself to be vulnerable, especially after the event’s of Monte D’or, when he learned of Hershel’s serious dedication to the art of the gentleman. 

It was a beautiful scene. Both parties smiled in their own, funny way, and a calm spread throughout the room. It was a shame, to say the least, when Hershel finally pulled away, a bit quickly, and with an expression so filled with multiple different emotions, it was hard for Randall to read his state of being, and so, like any good friend, he asked. 

“So, Hersh…” He cleared his throat, puffed out air as if preparing himself for something, and proceeded to smile gently at the Professor. “Are you, you know, ok? You look like you’re falling apart.”

“Ahh, well... ” Hershel looked up at the rim of his hat, and yanked it towards him, straightening it out. He swallowed hard, and tried to relax his face. Surprisingly, it actually worked. Hershel looked something close to normal, if only for a bit. “Forgive me, how rude. It’s very ungentlemanly to-”

“Aw, Hersh!” If Randall’s voice hadn’t come out silly, it would have been easy to think he was furious. “There’s a difference between being a gentleman and avoiding a question.” He paused, hoping maybe that would be incentive enough for Layton to actually give him a legitimate answer, but all he did was look up at Randall politely. Randall sighed. “Hershel, please.” Now he was dead serious. Layton’s stoicness began to flounder. Many moment’s passed before Hershel realized this wasn’t a puzzle he was about to squeeze through. 

“Randal, I know you mean well, and it brings me joy to see you worry for me, however I feel it would be best if we did not delve into this further.” He looked up at Randall, who seemed like he was about to throw a nasty objection. “At least,” he added hastily at the last moment, just before Randall’s open mouth could actually say something. “Not yet. Not right now. Perhaps at a more…” He hesitated. “...appropriate time.” 

Randall studied Hershel’s face skeptically. He was hiding something. Nobody knew how terrible a liar Hershel was more than Randall. “Hmmm. Fine,” he finally settled. “I’ll try again later.” He clapped his hands, and with a malicious grin that put Hershel in a state of unease, he grabbed one of the many identical suits from Hershel’s closet. “But, until then,” He started pushing an objecting Layton across the small room and into the bathroom. “You are going to take a shower, my good sir. Because, you see,” he thrusted the dazed Hershel’s clothes upon his arms. “You are disgusting. End of story. Don’t take more than 10 minutes.” 

Before hearing another word, he playfully slammed the door. He was about to leave when he found himself melting at the door. Layton, for the first time that terrible day, chuckled. It was soft, and sounded like he was rolling his eyes, but  _ it was there _ . It meant that, if only for a second, whatever plagued Hershel that day was not there right now, and that was enough to put a bright, beaming smile on Randall’s face as he walked downstairs, and into the kitchen.

 

______________________________________

 

“Hmmm… Do you have an eight?” 

“Hah! Nope! Go fish!”

“Aw, what?? That’s no fair! This is the third time in a row!”

Surprisingly, It was Randall who kept losing to Luke in their  _ Go Fish _ card game. Flora giggled in the background. These two had started a card war ever since the beginning of the game. The chaos was almost enough to make one forget about the situation. Almost.

“Randall,” began Flora apprehensively, feet dangling in the air nervously. Everybody turned to look at her, still with large grins plastered on their faces. Her smile from her previous giggles leaked its way into her concern, and it made her words easier to listen to. “...You still haven’t told us how the Professor is. If he’s ok and everything.” 

Randall blinked, taken by surprise. The room got quiet. Luke, no longer a smile on his face, nodded, and added on to Flora. “Did he tell you why he’s all… odd? He’s rarely ever late to anything, and he’s already been upstairs for 15 minutes when you told him 10.”

Randall sighed, and put down his cards, bending back in his chair and combing his hands through his hair; a nervous tick. “I just don’t know.” The kid’s frowned with confusion, so he continued on. “So far he’s been avoiding my questions expertly. Whatever he’s hiding, he’s dead set on keeping his secret that way. A secret. I’d almost suggest we let him keep it to himself, but-”

“We can’t do that!” Luke jumped up so abruptly, Flora gasped in shock, and the things on the table shifted just a tad. He had been angered. “Have you seen how he walks? All hunched up and depressed? Or the way his eyes just kind of gloss over the first three times you call him? Or-”

Randall chuckled softly, and put his finger to his lips. “Shhhh. You don’t have to get so worked up about it. It’s ungentlemanly not to let someone finish what they’re saying, after all.” 

Luke gasped, and sheepishly sank into his seat. “Oh. Right. I’m sorry”

“Right. As I was saying,” Randall continued on as if nothing had happened. “I’d almost suggest we let him keep his secret, if it wasn’t causing him so much pain.” He knit his brows, as if he too was in pain. “It’s painful to watch, really.”

Everybody took a moment to themselves to let Randall’s words really sink in. It was  _ horrifying _ to watch. 

“Now I do hope you’re not talking about me…” Everybody turned around, and, with wide eyes, everybody nearly choked on their own breath. Hershel Layton was standing at the threshold between the kitchen and the entryway. His hat was a bit crooked and one ear of his suit jacket was flattened on his shoulder, as opposed to the other, which flamed around his face. It seemed Randall’s little visit earlier to his room had lifted his spirits up a bit, for his eyes had lost the little puffiness it had, and the left corner of his lips had started to make their way upwards; a ghost of a smile. He did still unfortunately have that troubled aura around him, but that didn’t stop Randall from being Randall. 

“Hershel!” A giant smirk creeped its way to his face. “It was about time!” Luke and Flora looked at each other, dead scared that the Professor had overheard them, and then, simultaneously, at Randall, confused at why the man wasn’t as concerned about this as they were. He, however, did not care, and kept being facetious by jerking his face in a far too exaggerated scowl. “How ungentlemanly!” He shouted, high pitched. “First, you force us to succumb to these dastardly cards by being a full… uh… “ He looked over to the nearest clock. Eight thirty two. He started counting with his fingers. Luke had started to lighten up and began chuckling lightly. “... Ah! A full seventeen minutes late!” He pointed his finger at Layton, accusatory.

Layton rolled his eyes light heartedly. Randall always brought out the fun in people. “Oh please, Randall. I-” 

“Oh!” Randall did his best to look attacked, but the large smile that his face was reflecting didn’t sell it. “Are you  _ interrupting  _ me?! That should be a crime! I still have so much more to say! Because then, oh, then, you had the  _ audacity _ to come down and actually eavesdrop on our innocent conversation, and then try to pin us as ungentlemanly!?!” He stood up from his seat and slammed his fist with a half demented frown, shifting the cards on the table, making them a mess. Now Flora had finally loosened up, and started laughing uncontrollably with Luke. “This call’s for the worst punishment!” He turned to Flora. “What should we make him do?”

She giggled, and got off her seat as if in offering. “Have breakfast!” 

Randall brought his hand to his forehead, as if touched by a beautiful action. “How merciful!” He sniffed. Layton chuckled.  _ Wait,  _

Randall opened his eyes, and blinked. He couldn’t believe it.  _ Layton chuckled. _ The mood of the place had finally began to resonate a normal day, and it was enough to put a big beaming smile on Randall’s face. 

“Well, how about it?” The red-head’s voice returned to normal. He walked over to the other side of the table to pull up a chair. “... care to join us?” 

Layton’s eyes softened, and he gave a small nod. Flora and Luke basically cheered at their victory, which made Randall laugh. 

“Have you considered,” Hershel pondered with that great air of superiority that his voice always gave off as he grabbed a china teacup and poured hot water, “Joining the theatre?” He poured a small teaspoon of tea mix, cream, and sugar, and stirred as he joined the table, sitting next to Randal and Flora, and across from Luke. “You’d be quite good at it.”

Randall only shrugged. “I think everybody grew sick of my acting when I still wore a mask and a wig and terrorized Monte D’or.” 

Luke raised his eyebrow in disagreement. “I don’t think that’s a fair reason.”

Hershel took a sip of his tea, and nodded in agreement with Luke. “A fine point. The fact that so many people were scared, awe’d, intrigued, and mystified by your alias only proves that acting is a strength of yours. Furthermore-”

“Hershel…” 

Layton looked up. Only now he realized that Randall had long since lost his usual smile. Clearly, the subject bothered him. It should be noted, however, that the way in which it bothered him seemed odd. He did not look pained, but more guilty, and instead of sadness, he seemed annoyed. Regardless, Hershel respected Randall’s wishes, sympathising with him greatly, especially now, and quickly changed the subject. 

“Ah, speaking of Monte D’or, how is Henry?”

Luke leaned in, curious to see how the people he met were, while Flora politely sat silent, acting invisible at her own will. She didn’t know any of these people, and therefore did not see it appropriate for her to weigh in on any conversation. 

“Well, Henry is actually a bit stuck up now. Nothing terrible or anything, but I suppose wealth must have gotten to him.” Slowly, Randall’s playful self began to revive, as he chuckled at the thought of Henry. “It’s actually hilarious to watch.” 

Layton smiled politely. Really more of a courtesy than anything. “And Angela?”

Randall fell silent. Uncomfortably silent. “Ah yes… Angela. Well…” His foot started tapping; a nervous tick. “Um…” He lowered his voice down to a whisper and leaned in to Hershel’s ear. “Just how open minded are the kids?” 

Layton looked puzzled, to say the least. “Open minded...” he repeated to himself, thinking. Could it be? “Well, if they’re not, this would be a perfect opportunity to show them another gentlemanly rule, if you’re comfortable, that is.”

Randall forced the butterflies that were flying towards his throat to stay down in his stomach. His foot tapping worsened. “Well… do you remember? Our little mistake in junior year?”

The fire in Layton’s eyes when a puzzle was solved lit up. He understood. “But of course. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.” 

...

That day… It had been quite a long day. School was out and fencing was nearly over. Randall, as always, was about to win yet again. 

“Touche!” shouted the young Randall, jabbing Hershel’s side. The teen puffed a sigh of exhaustion.

“Well done…  _ Again. _ ” Hershel took his mask off, revealing his gorgeous and impeccable afro. Truly a sight to behold. “I bet Angela will be all over you tonight.”

Randall giggled in excitement, taking his own mask off and helping Hershel up, panting and wheezing. “Oh come off it. I’m sure you’ll beat me one day! But until then, I’ll reign victorious!” 

Hershel rolled his eyes, and chuckled. The two were sweating up a pool, so they walked to the locker room. It was empty. 

“You know, Hersh,” Randall began nonchalantly, flushed from the exercise, as Hershel took his white shirt jacket off, revealing his skin. “I bet nobody has told you this, but you have really nice muscles.” 

Hershel nodded, and was about to go shower, when he did a double take, and realized Randall’s words. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“You’re muscles. Look,” Randall walked up to his friend normally, heart palpitations skyrocketing. He ran his finger on Hershel’s admittedly well outlined chest to show his friend, and chuckled. “I don’t know. I always notice how well it’s fitted on your figure. You know, more than most people.” He continued running his finger along Hershel’s muscles. It was fun, almost soothing. 

“I see.” Hershel had never really thought about it, but now that it was brought to his attention, he had begun to notice Randal’s body as well. “Your waist is very well structured.”

Randall laughed. “Is that the best you can do?”

“No really, look.” He reached out to touch Randall’s waist, but retracted it almost immediately when Randall started giggling weirdly.

“That tickles!” Randall remarked. This put a nasty grin on Hershel’s face.

“Oh, really?” Hershel reached out and started moving his hands around Randall’s waist and stomach area, making the red-headed boy fall over in laughs. Shouting between chuckles and gasps for air in a vain attempt to make Hershel stop. It was only when Randall finally managed to turn the table and get on top of Hershel that they finally came to a truce, and Randall was able to catch his breath and relax a bit. 

The two friends gazed in each others eyes. Flushed, sweating, shirtless, breathing heavily, and one on top of the other. Randall felt something he had not felt with Angela before; impulse. Hershel was  _ gorgeous _ .  

He leaned in, cautiously;he knew Hershel was particular about his personal space. His face was now only centimeters away from Hershel’s. He didn’t have time to process the right and wrong. He didn’t try thinking about what was good and bad. In fact, he wasn’t even thinking at all. When Hershel took both of them by surprise by filling the little space between each other’s lips, every other thought seemed to fade away. 

Just as quickly as Hershel had surprised them, he pulled away, just enough to let each other’s noses rest on each other. He looked startled, and unprepared. Why had he done that? 

Why did it matter? 

Several moments passed, Randall waiting patiently, heart fluttering, before Hershel tried again. This time, It clicked. Randall kissed with such a gentle passion that Layton’s hand had to rise up to feel his friend’s face, chiseled and beautiful. It was so real. 

So caught up in the moment, Hershel was shocked when Randall so frantically cut off their connection, and scurried away from him. Dazed, he looked around him, and only noticed many seconds after that there was a man at the door. The coach. He was saying something. No, yelling. Shouting. Hershel winced when he fully returned to earth. They had been caught. He looked at Randall, and Randall looked at him. 

The rest of the day had been really, really weird. 

...

Of course he remembered. How could he ever forget?

The memory seemed to provoke an emotion deep within the Professor, but it was so mixed that he didn’t even want to try and analyze it, and it was so opaque that he could live with it without it changing his behavior. He looked to Randall, calmly. “So that’s what happened then?”

Randall nodded uncomfortably. “Yeah…” 

The room was silent for a moment. Finally, Luke grew too curious to bare, and asked. “So, what  _ did  _ happened to Angela?”

Randall grinned, nervously. Sheepishly. “Ah, well, she’s fine. Very happy with Henry. She grew attached to him, I guess. Funny how love works.” His words were choppy, and terribly structured.

Luke frowned. Both Randall and Layton had proven to be very ungifted at the art of lying. “But, I thought you were going to marry her?” 

“Uncle Randall,” Flora spoke up after a long time of being quiet. I took everybody by surprise. “Why are you so uneasy?” 

Randall swallowed hard. These kids were smarter than they let on. He looked to Layton, who nodded reassuringly, and sighed.  _ Here goes nothing _ , he thought. 

“You two have met a fair amount of people in your lives, right?” Both nodded, leaning in with intrigue. “I bet you’ve noticed how different everybody is.” 

“Yeah, but as long as they’re kind, it doesn’t matter how different they are.” Luke said with a smile. Flora nodded in agreement, mirroring Luke’s sunshine smile. 

This lighted a confidence in Randall. His grin began to triumph over his fear. It would be ok. This, however, did not help him find a good way to word his dilemma, and so he looked to Hershel again. 

“You know, Randall,” Layton pointed out when he noticed his friend’s plea for help, “A gentleman always keeps his thoughts or announcements short and to the point. I’m sure you’ll find that it’s easier to deliver news that way.”

Randal quietly thanked the professor a million times. He knew what to do now. He was ready. 

“The reason I did not marry Angela is because I realized that she didn’t make me feel the way other people made me feel. The way… well, the way other men made me feel.”

Flora blinked, and Luke frowned. Both were confused. “What?” They asked simultaneously.

Randall wanted to groan. He didn’t want to say it again. But he did anyways. “I don’t like being in a relationship with women. I’m attracted to men,” Randall finally confessed. 

Flora had the epiphany of her life, and even muttered, “oh!” to herself much more audibly than she would have liked. Though surprised, she didn’t seem revolted or repulsed. On the contrary, she smiled loving and accepting. “Well that doesn’t really matter, right Luke?” She turned to Luke. “...Luke?”

Luke was still leaning in, as if the news had yet to be delivered. He looked at Flora, then back to Randall. “Wait… That’s it?”

Randall chuckled, relieved he hadn’t been ridiculed. Truly happy he was a part of one of the only households to have this kind of open heart in 1966. “Well yeah, buddy. I don’t know what else you were expecting.” 

Luke shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. I just thought that was normal.”

Randall paused, now curious. That was a rather odd thing to say. “Oh? What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I don’t really like girls the way I like guys as well.” Luke stated, nonchalant.

Flora’s eyes widened, and Randall almost fell of his chair. Layton, who usually knew when these things were coming, was caught completely by surprise, and well near spit his tea out, knocking the hat on his head loose and making it crooked. It took everybody a full four seconds to recover from such shocking news.

“ _ WHAT?! _ ” They all simultaneously shouted together. Even Layton. 

“Is… is that bad?”

Randal shook his head furiously. “No! No! Not at all! It’s just, well-” 

“I didn’t think,” Flora was looking around the room trying to find her words, as if they’d materialize if she looked around hard enough. “You just sorta...I mean it’s so sudden.”

“Yeah, but it’s absolutely ok and healthy!” 

Luke looked up at his idol, the only one who had yet to say anything. Layton, though noticeably shocked, sat relatively calm, collecting his thoughts. 

“My boy,” He began, slowly, deciding on every word. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised, however,” he glanced at Randall seriously as if scolding him for making such a big fuss about it, and looked back at Luke. “I believe it’s nothing that merits special attention. It’s simply a fact. You’re not different from anybody else, but you’re still special.” He smiled reassuringly. “You’re still Luke.” 

Luke seemed to calm down at hearing the Professor’s words. “The professor’s number one apprentice!” 

Hershel tipped his hat in response, and puffed a sigh of relief. That had the potential to turn out much worse than it did. He seemed a bit anguished. He wasn’t sure if he had said the right thing. As much as he wanted the things he said to be true, the fact was that it was very possible to get into some serious trouble if a fact like that leaked out. The thought of Luke sentenced to a life long mockery set Hershel at an unease. 

And then he remembered what  _ she _ had said. 

“If a person tries hard enough,” she had remarked, casually, “They’ll find friends who will love them. All everybody needs is a bit of love.” 

Layton sat with a day dreamy face and a nostalgic, sweet, rare smile. Luke stared with concern. Randall frowned, worried. Flora actually spoke what everyone was thinking.

“Oh no. Not again…” she nearly cried. 

“Hersh?” Randall poked Layton’s arm with great caution, which caused him to shiver back to reality. The scene would have been comical had Hershel not looked so dead so suddenly. His smile dropped, and the twinkle in his eyes that Randall had so successfully revived crashed, and sank. For a moment, he almost looked like he was about to cry right there and then, but with a clear of the throat and a deep breath, he managed to save himself from that. Looking for a way out, his eyes stood still on the clock. 

“Oh dear. It seems I’m running very late.” He pushed himself away from the table fiercely as he got up, and made to move towards the entryway. Randall, however, was able to grab the other man’s wrist just in time before he could get too far away.

“No,” retorted Randall, sternly. “Call, and tell the faculty you won’t be going today.”

“Come now,” He tried releasing himself from the red head’s grip, to no avail. He looked in his friend’s eyes, and they both stopped breathing for a moment. It set Hershel in a terrible state of panic for reasons only he knew why, and he briskly broke eye contact with him, suddenly the clock seemed very interesting, for his eyes settled on that again. “Randall, please. I must get going.” His voice splashed with hurt.  Randall swallowed briskly. Hershel’s behavior was so hard to watch that he almost gave up, let go, and looked away. But he didn’t. 

“...No,” he repeated. “Something is bothering you, and it’s got everybody here concerned.” He took a glance at Flora and Luke, and the pit in his stomach sank deeper. They had stood up, their faces shouted fear and concern for the Professor’s health. Layton also seemed to notice this, for it set him even more on edge. But that didn’t stop Randall. “Please, Hershel. This isn’t something you have to suffer through alone. It-” 

Randall stopped, mortified. Hershel’s hands had started shaking. It wasn’t visible, but he could feel it. He could feel his best friend at the breaking point. He had gone too far. Quickly, with a terrible distress and a great worry for the other, he let go of Hershel, and took a step back to give his friend space. No good. All Layton did was tip his hat sharply, to hide his eyes. 

Luke was frozen, terrified at the events unfolding before him.  _ Why  _ wouldn’t the professor just tell them what was wrong?  _ Why  _ was he suffering so much? Flora, her tear stricken face, slowly stepped up to the professor, and gently hugged his waist. Layton gasped silently. His daughter…  _ she was in pain _ . He bent down to is knees, and gently embraced his flower. She started sobbing on his shoulders when he did, to which Layton closed his eyes, breathing shakily, refusing to cry. Her trembling hands squeezed tight around the professor as she spoke. 

“P-please, professor,” she cried, words chopped. “Y-you can’t…you don’t…” she sobbed again, breathing shallow, before trying again. “We c-can’t help you i-if you won’t let us!” To this, the professor’s only response was hugging her tighter, and shaking his head.

About a minute passed, Hershel and Flora embracing each other, before it became too much for the man to bear. With a small kiss to her head, he broke the connection, gently pushing her away, standing up, and opened his eyes. Flora kept crying. Luke looked just about ready to do the same. Randall seemed severely pained for his friend by the event. It was all just too much for Hershel. He couldn’t do it. He opened his mouth to try and say something, but it stayed silent. His throat wouldn’t let him talk. He just couldn’t.  _ He couldn’t.  _ He wouldn’t. 

“No, Hershel! Don’t-!” Randall shouted, but it was already too late. Layton had sprinted out the door, nearly breaking it, and by the time Randall had charged his way to the front door, Layton’s red car was already at the end of the street, and fading out of sight. 

Luke gasped, shocked at the scene, upset, worried, confused.  “W-why would he do that?! He’s never run off like that before!” 

“Because,” Randall responded, almost in a growl, “Even the best people have their worst moments.” 

Flora frowned between sobs, absolutely livid. “He’s a coward! He never lets us into his life! He-”

Randall’s eyes bulged in surprise. “ _ What!? _ Flora, you know that’s not true!”

“But it is!” 

Randall looked at the door again, still ajar. He had to chase his friend down as fast as he could, but he couldn’t just leave this mess here without cleaning it up first. With a sigh, he bent down to Flora’s level, and motioned for Luke to come next to his sister-like figure. He did.

“Look, I know this isn’t Hersh’s best moment, but you can’t blame him. Not yet.” he put his hand on Flora’s shoulders. She flinched. “People don’t think clearly when they let emotions cloud their judgment.”

“You mean,” Luke pried, cautiously, “like the masked gentleman?”

Randall winced. He hated the subject, but he had to admit it was a good example. “Yes, exactly.” Flora looked up again at Randall, a new twinkle in her eyes. Luke had told her all about their adventures at Monte D’or. She knew about Randall. She knew not to bring it up with him. But now she had to.

“You let one thought make you do all those terrible things before thinking them through, right?”

Randall glanced away. “Y-yes.”

“All in the name of Angela?”

“Ah, well, yes, sort of. I had, um, been led to believe that Henry had taken everything from me, when it turns out he was actually just preserving it for me.” 

Flora nodded. She understood. Her tears had stopped pouring, and she wiped her face with her sleeve in an attempt to clean it. Randall stood up, a weak smile on his face, when he was sure the kids were okay, and was about to leave to try and find Hershel when he was called just one more time. 

“Wait, Randall…” Luke looked perplexed. “That day in Monte D’or, when you almost fell down the ravine again, you remembered one more thing, didn’t you?” 

Randall gulped. “Oh?”

Flora looked at Luke, and realized exactly what he meant. “The reason you didn’t marry Angela… Was it because of the professor?” 

Randall looked at them for a few moments, not really knowing what to do, before finally breaking into a small smile. “Have I told you two that you’re both smarter than anybody lets on?” A small chuckle lifted the somber mood of the house, and it his signal that it was okay to leave now. 

Stepping outside the door and closing it correctly, he let a short, determined sigh escape his lips. He had no car - he came here by train - but that was not about to stop him from finding his friend, or at least trying. It would take a miracle to find Hershel, not just physically, but emotionally as well. It was very unlikely that Hershel had actually gone to teach at Gressenheller. He was just too much of a mess for that, and he knew that even the Professor himself would admit that. He started walking down the street in the direction he saw the car go.  _ Odd _ , he thought.  _ This road leads down to a different part of London than the places he always goes… What a puzzle _ . Stroking his chin as he looked up in thought, there were only three places he could think of, supposing he stayed in the near vicinity of Hershel’s flat. There was the park, some large historical fountain, and a rather run down graveyard. Reaching a fork in the road, he had to decide. The park was the closest, and had the fountain only a few steps ahead of it, so he decided to try those first, hitting two birds with one stone. 

It took about eight minutes at a fast pace to walk to the park. Looking around, he cursed his rotten luck. There was no sign of a large top hat anywhere. It was quite a shame, really, since the weather was perfect for a nice autumn walk in the park. 

_ Focus, Randall _ , he thought when he caught himself fantasizing about having a picnic. Perhaps he had come through here? Turning to a civilian with very odd hair spiking around all sides, he courteously smiled at them before asking, “Forgive me, but have you seen a short man with a really tall top hat?”

But the stranger only shook his head. “Sorry, sir. I’ve been here all day and haven’t seen anybody fitting that description.

Randall sighed, disappointed, but bowed his head down in thanks, and left.  _ Darn _ . Walking down towards the fountain, jam packed with tourists, it didn’t take much observing to see that he wasn’t there either. “Where could he have gone?” He mumbled to himself. “Not at the park, not at the fountain…” he lifted his head up, wide eyes. “The graveyard?” 

Randall lifted his fast walking pace to a jog. Down the road, up the alleyway, across the bridge… It took him thirty five minutes to finally arrive to the ivy covered front gate. It was so run down, he didn’t know whether to try and open the gate, or jump over it. He didn’t have to think much about it though; somebody had already opened it. He walked in, and looked around. Everything was covered in filth, and none of the graves looked touched. Turning the corner, it seems he was wrong. None of the graves were touched, but one. 

Sitting at the far left of the main road sat one single man, his tall top hat resting firmly on his head. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t crying. He was just sort of...sitting. With every step that took Randall closer to his friend, his heart sank heavier. He was starting to understand. When he reached Layton, he said nothing, and Layton said nothing back at him, so he sat down to his  left, and decided to examine the grave Hershel was so obviously grieving over.

 

_ Claire Foley _

_ June 14, 1931- October 27, 1957 _

_ Forever loved.  _

 

Randall winced. Nine years later and Hershel was still a mess. 

“She...really must have been somebody,” whispered Randall, slowly. 

Layton scoffed, weakly. “She was far more than somebody.” A small, nostalgic, incredibly painful smile made its way on his lips. “She was  _ everything _ .” A long moment passed before Hershel continued. “She would smile in the most dreary situations, and she wouldn’t let me sleep until I was content with the day... I still hear her laugh when I tell a particularly terrible joke.” His strange smile dropped, and he bit his lip. “... I was going to ask her to marry me that day… that day she...”

Several minutes passed before Randall realized his friend wasn’t about to talk again unless he pried further, carefully. “...but?” 

“But…the explosion… i-it… ” Hershel squeezed his eyes shut. No, he couldn’t do it. 

Calmly, firmly, Randall wrapped his hand around Hershel’s, and squeezed, reassuringly, gazing at Hershel, taking him in. Hershel looked up, surprised. Their eyes locked for a short moment. 

And then, finally, Randall’s miracle arrived.

Layton grit his teeth, and his eyes started watering. He shook his head fiercely, and tried to shut his eyes again, but it was already too late. Hot tears already streamed down his face, and his hat fell to the ground gingerly as he ducked his head sharply. Randall gasped when Hershel’s forehead met with his chest, and he quickly tried comforting his friend. He hugged the other man tight, rocked him, and even kissed his forehead, allowing his eyes to water as well. Nothing could stop the thick tears pouring from Hershel’s eyes to stop anymore.

“Shhhhh, I know,” Randall murmured softly, stroking Hershel’s hair. “... I know.” He would have given everything in the world to take away Hershel’s pain at that moment.

Nine years Hershel had gone without letting himself heal. Nine years he kept every emotion pent up and locked away, not daring let anybody near them. Nine years of tears he cried that day. Half an hour passed before Hershel finally had the strength to pull away and look into Randall’s eyes again. Randall smiled, bittersweet, and large part of the heavy weight on Hershel’s shoulders seemed to lift. For the first time in nine years, he was at peace. 

“... Are you okay now, Hersh?” asked Randall, still genuinely concerned for the other’s health. 

Layton shook his head, placing his hat back on. “No,” he admitted, somberly. His voice was barely audible when he muffled it with his sleeve while cleaning his face. It was, however, enough for Randall to hear, and it almost set him off before Hershel could finish his sentence. “But with time, I’m sure that I will heal.” His voice was starting to regain its energy. Randall sighed, relieved, and nodded in understanding. Layton looked at Claire’s grave, and touched it gently. Randall stepped back, knowing Hershel needed to be alone with Claire.

“My love,” Hershel whispered, far too hushed for Randall to even catch a few words. “...Will you, perhaps, let me try one more time?” 

Hershel stood up, adjusting his hat, and nodded at Randall, who took it as a sign to follow him. The walk to the car was the most awkward few seconds of Randall’s life. Unsure of himself, not knowing if the way he comforted Hershel was appropriate for the moment, embarrassed, having walked into a moment so personal for the other, and flustered, not knowing what to do or say next, if anything at all. Reaching the car door, the two entered, still without a word, and Randall’s eyes fell straight to his lap. Layton put the keys in the keyhole, but refrained from turning them quite yet, and set his hand down on the gear shift. 

“Randall,” began Hershel, looking at the other stoically. Randall looked up at Hershel, signaling his attention was with Hershel . “I’d like to apologize.”

“...What do you mean?” asked Randall, nervously.  

“I mean,” continued Layton with a sigh, “It’s ungentlemanly to make a scene, and-”

“Oh Hersh, please,” Randall cut him off with a scoff, rolling his eyes light heartedly. “That wasn’t a scene.” Hershel raised his eyebrow at Randall, skeptical, but let the other continue anyways. “It’s ungentlemanly to make a temper tantrum. It’s human to show emotions.” 

Layton smiled lightly at his feet, pushing a puff of air out of his nose. He’d never thought of it that way. “Yes, perhaps.”

Another moment of silence passed between the two. They both had something on their minds, but neither of them wanted to address it. A minute passed, then another. In Hershel’s mind, about enough awkward silence had passed between them, so he began moving his hand as to turn the keys and start the car. This, however, set Randall in a small panic. 

“W-wait,” he stuttered, blocking Hershel’s hand with his own, holding it in his own. He looked into the others eyes. “Maybe I should drive?” 

Hershel blinked, almost surprised Randall had said anything at all. “Oh? Well why do you say that?” He asked, despite knowing the answer.

A sigh in the form of a smile rose upon Randall’s lips, and he chuckled just a bit, lifting the mood just a bit more. “Hersh, if you start driving, I might as well start writing my will right now. You’re in no frame of mind to be operating heavy machinery.” 

Layton smiled, and relaxed his hand back on the clutch, acknowledging that his friend was right. This gave Randall a prime opportunity to exaggerate a sigh, and wipe non-existent sweat from his forehead. Randall’s hand still touched his, but no longer were the being held. Now, Randalls hand was gingerly placed on top of his in a peaceful manner. 

“Do you even know how to drive a manual transmission?” asked Hershel in a know-it-all manner. This made Randall flinch. He hadn’t driven a car like this ever since he fell that chasm all those years ago. 

“Well, I think so…” He looked up, trying to remember how cars worked. “Yeah, I think I do.” Now grabbing Hershel’s hand, which still lay on top of the clutch, he moved both their hands to the top right of the clutch. “This is first gear, right?” asked Randall. Hershel nodded, and Randall smirked a bit, getting ahead of himself. He moved their hand’s back to the middle, and then up top. “And this is second, no?”

Layton smiled the way he smiled at Luke when he got a puzzle wrong, and shook his head. “Unfortunately, that’s third. This,” he directed both their hands to the bottom right, “Is second gear.”

Randall grinned sheepishly. “Oh. Live and learn, right?”

Layton raised an eyebrow at Randall, skeptical, but trying his best to be upbeat. “With that attitude, I’m afraid I will be the one fearing for my life with you at the driver’s side of my car. Especially If you drive anything like the time with Angela after our driver’s education class all those years ago.” 

The redhead laughed heartily. He had almost crashed his car with Angela and Hershel in it the first time they went driving together. “Oh please, Hersh!” he tried defending himself, failing at being playfully serious due to his uncontrollable giggling.  “That was much much different! Back then, there were only three cars in the entire town. Of course I was excited to get behind the wheel on one of them! I wanted to show off to my Hershel and my Angela!”

Hershel only responded with a “hmm” as the gears in his brain started turning. He seemed rather puzzled suddenly, like Randall had reminded him of something. 

“Speaking of Angela,” Hershel began, planning his each and every word. Randall’s smile vanished in the blink of an eye, with a look of terror in his eyes that shouted  _ oh no _ . “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Hershel continued on, “Now I know it’s not my place to pry in your private affairs, but I just can’t seem to help but keep wondering. That day we traveled through the Akbadain Ruins, the goal of that journey was to find the Mask of Order and use that to then propose to Angela, correct?”

Randall nodded, hesitantly. He seemed worried. “Something like that, yes.”

“And yet…” Hershel paused again, choosing how to word his thoughts. “You revealed to me only hours ago that you’ve only an interest in men, no?” Randall gulped, and his cheeks started flushing a bright crimson. His lack of an answer strengthened the likelihood of Hershel’s suspicions. “Randall, what was the real reason for our adventures in the ruins that day?” 

Randall looked away, hiding his anguished, contorted expression. “The Akbadain… They’re called ruins for a reason.” His voice was low, and somber. “They ruined my life.”

Hershel grimaced, starting to feel guilty and remorseful for bringing it up. “Come now, Randall. You’re lucky you’re here talking with me, and with a clear mind no less.” 

“No, it’s true.” He looked back at Hershel, tormented. “I had so many plans, so many dreams.” Randall almost seemed surprised at himself. He didn’t know he still harboured that much of a hatred for the lost years of his life. But he felt reassured when Hershel gave him a patient smile, and so he continued. “...You’re right. That day when we went searching for the mask, I had no intention to marry Angela, even though I knew she wanted to.” 

“Then why did we go?” asked Hershel, a genuine curiosity pulling at his stomach. He had a few unlikely ideas, and a large hunch, with a flicker in his eyes that only emerged when he was trying to solve a mystery.  “I don’t believe the sole purpose was for fame, was it?” 

Randall’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he chuckled sheepishly, nervous. “No, of course it wasn’t just fame.” He paused, and his shy smile vanished as soon as it came. “That mask… it was about to be the key to a new life. I planned on showing my father. Maybe that would have stopped the bastard.” A sharp silence fell for a few seconds. Hershel couldn’t recall how many times Randall had come over, bruised, angry, and crying, always with a new excuse, always trying to hide the same reason. 

Layton shuttered at the memory, and tried to comfort the other man  when the words came back to his mouth. “You’re already a much better man than he ever was.”

Randall looked up at Hershel, smiling ever so slightly. “He wasn’t the only reason though. I wanted to show everybody that I was no failure. I…” his cheeks reddened, and he looked away. “...I wanted to show you.”

Hershel blinked, unsure exactly what Randall meant, but sighed, smiling gently, bordering on polite and genuine. “Randall, you were not a failure before we left for the ruins. And you’re certainly not a failure now.”

A new hope flickered in his eyes as he now turned completely towards the professor, and looked him straight in the eyes, to make sure he wasn’t lying. “...You really think so?”

Hershel’s eyes widened, shocked that was even a question. “Randall... _ Of course  _ I think so.” A small puff of air escaped Hershel’s lips when it occurred to him that words weren’t reaching the other man very well, and so he put a reassuring hand on Randall’s shoulder, and nodded. Randall, however, had other plans. He swung himself at the Professor, and wrapped his arms around Hershel’s waist, pushing the two uncomfortably against the inside of the car door. His head rested gingerly on Hershel’s chest

“You don’t know...how much that means…” Randall’s blubbering words were choppy, and interrupted by sporadic, nervous chuckles. 

Hershel would have usually just pat Randall on the shoulders and maybe push the other away, after all he was very keen on personal space. But this time he felt the need to embrace the other back. His warm scent. His warmth. It reminded him so much of when they were kids…  He closed his eyes, and breathed in. 

It would be okay. 

Randall was the one to pull back after a few precious moments of this, but not for very long. He pulled back in, this time directed for Hershel’s forehead, and kissed him just between the eyebrows, barely below the hat, smiling greatly, almost as if this was commonplace, or instinct. 

“Thank you, Hersh-” He looked at Hershel’s expression, and his own eyes widened in horror, realizing exactly what he’d done. Layton’s face was tomato red, and alarmed. His hat had rolled down to conceal his left eye. Randall gulped and grinned sheepishly, scurrying back to his own seat. “S-sorry, I’ll just...” He cleared his throat, and looked out the window. Now he was flushed a color much like his hair. It took Hershel a good while to compose himself again. Several seconds passed by before he finally straightened his hat, tried wiping the red off his face, unsuccessfully, and finally started the car.

The entire way home was silent. The entire way home was  _ awkward _ . Randall would have to thank whatever god existed later though, for the ride was only three minutes. They passed hills and trees and the small crossroads Randall had walked through. It felt like an eternity. They finally reached Hershel’s flat, and immediately when the engine stopped and the car was in gear, the two escaped the automobile, slamming the doors rather harshly. But neither of them could bring themselves to enter the house, and end what little adventure they were having. Randall looked towards Hershel, and Hershel looked back at him.  _ Perhaps…?  _ Thought Hershel.

“Care to join me for a light stroll before going inside?” he asked, still noticeably shocked from the events of no less than ten minutes ago. Randall nodded, a bit unsure of himself, but made his way to Hershel’s side. 

“Right, walking is always said to...put you on the right path, no?” Randall grinned awkwardly, wishing he hadn’t tried such a stupid joke. Hershel’s forced chuckle only made it worse. 

For a few minutes, the two walked side by side, silently, calmly, simply enjoying fresh air. It was when Hershel looked to Randall, however, did he notice his composure, and posture. His head was looking at the ground in front of him, his back was slouched, and he seemed deep in thought. 

“Now, Randall,” started Hershel, very matter-of-factly. Randall looked up startled. “You’re not at all like your usual self today. It’s always nice to look not only at the path in front of you, but of the scenery around as well.” 

Randall looked at Hershel for a moment, taking in his words, and then looked around. The red and orange leafs falling and swirling around Hershel, the green bushes that lay foot to the evergreen that waved at them in joy… “London really is gorgeous.”

Hershel nodded. “Indeed.”

Randall swallowed hard. He knew his next question was risky, but, “...was Claire?”

Hershel blinked, a bit taken aback from the question, but slowly nodded again. “Stunning.” He looked in the distance to a patch of grass not too far from them, and smiled nostalgically. “She would insist on taking me to that small area and teach me how to dance in broad daylight.”

Randall, finally starting to calm down, giggled at the thought of Hershel dancing. “Did you ever learn?”

Hershel shook his head furiously. “Oh heavens, no. Dancing was never my forte.” 

Randall chuckled at that. “I’d offer to teach, but so it turns out I could never dance either.” Hershel smiled at that, genuinely for once, and Randall sighed, a bit relieved. “I’m really glad.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m glad that Claire had the chance to be with you and take care of you, before she left. And I’m glad you could find solace in her before she left.” Hershel looked down. It was evident he was still hurt by the topic, but Randall stood by his word, and didn’t regret what he had said. 

“...Let’s go home,” suggested Hershel, and Randall nodded. Just as they turned to go back the way they came, Hershel did something bold that caught both of them by surprise. Gently, he took Randall’s hand, and wrapped it with his own. Randall looked at their hands, and then at Hershel, who was blushing a bit, but looked back at him. They both smiled.  

The way back was silent again, but no longer awkward. This time, it was filled with hope. 

 

_______________________

 

Flora was the first to hug the professor the moment the two came in, their hands still held together. It didn’t last very long though, for she noticed Randall and Hershel’s joined hands, and took a slightly dramatic step back. “Oh my gosh! When-”

“How are you feeling professor?” interrupted Luke, still terribly concerned for his friend. 

Randall nodded. “Ah, now that’s the question of the century, isn’t it?” Slowly, he let go of the other man’s hand, and allowed him the space he always needed. 

“Well,” Layton began, looking up at Randall. Randall nodded, reassuringly. Taking a deep breath, Layton looked back at his kids. He owed the truth to them. “It’s true, as of late my actions have been brash, and ungentlemanly, however,” he glanced at Randall. “I’m feeling much better now, and with a bit of time I’m sure I’ll feel like myself  again.”

Luke and Flora were shocked at how well composed the professor was, but that still left many questions unanswered. “But, why? What caused all this?” asked Flora, holding her hand to her heart, almost worriedly. 

Layton smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s nobody’s fault my dear.” Flora gasped softly. It was almost like he read her mind. “It’s simply an event…” he looked down, his smile fading. “...Many years ago I lost someone close to me on this day...” he opened his mouth to say more, but he didn’t have to. Flora was already in his arms, hugging him tight.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Layton smiled weakly. Then Luke joined in, hesitantly, and slowly hugged his friend right beside Flora. 

“We didn’t know.”

Hershel gulped, seemingly close to tears. “I-I know…”

Hershel might have gotten away without crying had Randall not swept the three up in his large, muscular arms, and complete the group hug, kissing Hershel’s forehead. He didn’t even have to say anything. Just his touch was enough to make Hershel tear up, and sob softly in the arms of the people he loved. His family. Bittersweet, it almost felt as if Claire was with them all, smiling. Happy. And everything was okay. 

 

_________________________________

 

**_October 28, 1966_ **

 

Randall awoke, his hair a complete mess, and his back aching. He’d have to remind Hershel to get a new couch one of these days. He yawned. It was a cold Friday morning. Looking up at the clock just above the entryway, he groaned. Nobody was up but him at 6 in the morning. A grand idea came to him, however. He’d use this extra time to cook a wonderful breakfast. After all, after an eventful day yesterday, it seemed everybody needed it. 

Midway through cooking, it was actually Hershel to wake up first, much to Randall’s surprise. He wasn’t at all dressed, only a dark orange sweatshirt on with matching pants, and unsurprisingly his top hat sitting at his head, as always.

“What about Luke?” Asked Randall, flipping something over.

“I don’t teach classes Friday’s, so he gets the day off, in a way.” replied Hershel, nonchalant. 

“Don’t those two have school?” 

Hershel shook his head. “Luke is still in the process of being transferred to a school system, and I’m homeschooling Flora until she’s a bit older.”

“Aw, Hersh.” He sighed, disappointed. “You gotta give that kid some freedom. She’s an adventurous spirit, you just have to let her be.”

Hershel shifted uncomfortably. “I know that…”

Randall would have gone more in depth, but he could see that Hershel knew that what Randall was saying was true, and so he decided to drop it. Pushing up his glasses, he served Hershel and himself eggs, ham, toast, and everything that was not porridge. “Well, I thought there’d be more of us, but this works, too, I guess.” He gave Hershel a plate, and got a usual thank you as he sat just next to Hershel. For a little while, the two ate silently. The air still felt a bit awkward between them. It wasn’t for long, however, when Hershel cleared his throat. 

“About yesterday-”

“I-I know, I’m sorry,” Randall started blubbering out, as if he’d been practicing a million outcomes of a single conversation, and therefore jumbled all his thoughts. “I didn’t really think and- well I mean you just-”

“ _ Randall _ …” Hershel chuckled lightly, and Randall gulped. What was Hershel thinking? “I was about to ask if you would like to accompany me to dinner tonight?” Randall’s jaw dropped.

“...What?”

“I-I mean,” Hershel panicked a bit, and started fidgeting with his fingers. “Only if you’d like. You’re not obliged at all.” Hershel didn’t really know what more to add, and so he simply stared intensely at Randall, waiting patiently yet nervously for an answer. Randall had to really process what Hershel was saying, before smiling a big toothy grin, nearly bubbling with excitement, and taking Hershel’s hand, who gave Randall’s own hand a reassuring squeeze.

“...I’d absolutely love to!”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to everyone, including suri, flor, and warm-water-leaf, who read this and kept me motivated to finish!


End file.
